My Dad

It’s been a while since I blogged last. Because I really don’t like talking about myself…no, really. Part of the reason I don’t have a job right now is because I do not have any self-promoting interview skills. “Tell me about yourself.” “Uhhhhhh, I like work. I want money for spend on kids toys and tattoos.” Even for something like this, which is just a journal really, it’s hard for me to sit down and write it out. I do feel better after writing about something that is especially heavy, so this one is going to be looooooong. My apologies.

Yesterday was hard. It would have been my Dad’s 67^th birthday but he passed away in August of 2009. In early November of 2008 I got a phone call from his girlfriend Debbie who told me that my Dad was in the hospital and they amputated his leg but he doesn’t know it yet and he is confused. I think it needs to be explained that Debbie is the dumbest person I have ever had the displeasure to meet, she makes me cringe but I keep my mouth shut because of my Dad. What she doesn’t tell me during this phone call is that my Dad has actually been in the hospital for over a week by this point and he is in so much pain from the amputation that they have had to keep him sedated, his kidneys are failing and he is getting frustrated at the doctors for not explaining what is going on. When in reality the doctors and nurses talk to him whenever he is coherent, but he doesn’t remember all of it. What Debbie also forgets to tell me is that she accidentally called my Mother first and told her what was going on (more on that in a sec).

At this time my husband and I were in a bit of a rough patch, he was working graveyard and it was putting a strain on our marriage. I was afraid that he would be blasé about my Dad being in the hospital and wouldn’t want to make the drive to Las Vegas. But, I was wrong. I woke him up to tell him what was going on and the only thing he asked was where the kids were going to be when we went down. The only option we had at such short notice was my Mother, which didn’t make either of us happy (she gets her very own post at another time). I did not find out until we were in Vegas that my Mother already knew all about what was going on, she pretended that this was the first she heard and agreed to let the kids stay the night. We had to be back to pick them up in the morning, we didn’t have the money for a hotel room.

At the hospital I stopped the head nurse and told her who I was and that I wanted to know exactly what was going on. She was the one to tell me that he had been in the hospital since a few days before Halloween, that he came in with a flesh-eating infection on both of his feet that was made worse by diabetes, they had to amputate his right leg above the knee but were able to save his left foot. His kidneys were overwhelmed by the infection, diabetes and the shock that comes with surgery and they didn’t know if they would resume regular function yet. This was my Dad’s first diagnosis of diabetes, even though he probably was diabetic for years – he hadn’t gone to a doctor since 1985. We sat and talked to Dad every time he woke up until it was clear that he was out for the night, he was so glad to see us and was pretty coherent.

I went down many more times to see him while he was in the hospital, he was finally released in January of 2009. He was getting really good at maneuvering himself in and out of his wheelchair, in and out of bed and could shuffle on one leg a little. Whenever I talked or seen him after he was released he was so positive about his progress and so proud of how strong he was getting. After my begging and pleading he agreed to let me find him a place that was near me so he could be close to the only family he had. He wanted to wait until fall, so he could save a little money and finish his physical therapy with the therapist he was used to. He was getting excited to walk again and to move closer to me and his grandkids.

I was at a friend’s house babysitting when my phone rang on August 7^th, I ran outside before answering to make sure I could hear him and have a smoke. I answered the phone “Hey Dad!” and was expecting to hear his laugh and “Hey sweetness, how are ya?” Instead Debbie was on the line and told me that my Dad had died and she was sorry to call but the Vegas medical examiner was there and needed to ask me a few questions since I was the next of kin. After getting off of the phone with the medical examiner who told me that her preliminary cause of death was heart attack, I called my husband. How he understood anything I said is still a mystery, then I called my friend whose kids I was watching. Then I sunk onto the edge of the concrete porch with my bare feet in the grass and the cigarette that I had forgotten to light.

Most of the ordeal has blissfully or forcefully faded to a blur now, except this: I know what my Dad would have wanted as far as his funeral arrangements go. He had no savings, no life insurance and no plans. He doesn’t give a shit about what happens to his body now that he has left it. I know that he would have told the funeral director to let the state pay for it, he worked his whole life for not much so the state can do this for him. He would have freaked out if I paid for it, and I didn’t have the money for it anyway so I made the decisions as my Father would have wanted them. A few days later my husband was on the phone with my Mom, who called and I refused to talk to anyone yet. She offered to pay for it, my husband told her that I had made the decisions and I didn’t want to go thru that again so the arrangements stay the way they are – period.

By the time my Dad passed away my husband was working day shift again and we had made it out of our rough patch, he stood firmly at my side while my world caved in around me. His anger at what happened 3 weeks after my Dad’s death still impresses me. I got a phone call from my Mother while I was at home and was trying to get back to some sort of normal. She and I had a tentative truce since Dad died, I had hope that we were coming to an understanding. Then she told me that my Dad’s remains were cremated and ready in an urn she picked out and everything was paid for-and-rainbows-and-unicorns-and-you’re-welcome. (!!!!) She had called the funeral home and made the arrangements herself, AFTER I made the arrangements and AFTER we told her not to, without apology (to date). The funeral home gladly took her money because then they wouldn’t have to wait for the state’s paperwork.

Whatever her intentions were, we told her not to. Now every time I look at my Father’s urn in the living room, I think of her too. Making his arrangements was the single hardest decision I have had to make thus far in my adult life, but I did it. And I did it in a way that would have made him proud, I don’t know if I can forgive her for fucking it up. My Dad was the one person that loved me no matter what, never hesitated to tell me he loved me and how proud I made him. I miss him terribly.